


Such an All Mighty Sound

by hiddencait



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 18:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14361150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: An unexpected face at his hospital bed and conversations that might change everything.





	Such an All Mighty Sound

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long LONG overdue thank you fic for Letsfuckingdisco over at tumblr. I legit have been trying to get this "short 1k fic" done for over a year I swear. But hopefully you all like it!
> 
> And yes the title is from Florence + The Machine's "Drumming Song" if only because this story flat out never wanted to give me a title and still honestly hasn't, thus resorting to song lyrics LOL.

Billy awoke slowly like a man emerging from a tunnel, darkness fading to bright light that hurt his eyes as he strained to open lids far heavier than they’d been in some time. Or heavier than he thought they’d been back then…

 

Back when exactly, he wasn’t sure, but it had been a while. He was almost certain.

 

Before he could figure out where he was, a door opened with a clatter somewhere to his right. Instinctively he tried to sit up and reach for a weapon, but his body screamed in pain at the motion, ribs and hip flaring with heat and his head swimming. His blurry vision swam more, and his stomach churned.

 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and a bucket was pressed into his hands, but thankfully, his nausea passed without a bout of vomiting. His head still pounded, however, so he kept his eyes nearly closed, guessing that, if someone was caring for his injured self, then they must not be a threat, for the moment at least. His torso remained one long line of pain, and he bit back a groan, trying to decide if it would hurt less to sit up the rest of the way or lay back down. As he debated, the bucket was removed, and the hands decided for him – adding pillows behind him until he could sit up a bit more comfortably with their support.

 

Billy doubted anything was going to be completely comfortable; he hadn’t often found himself in this much pain even with the violent life he led, but the few times he’d been that injured, the pain rarely let him rest without some aggravation.

 

“Are you sure you don’t need the bucket?” the voice was soft and soothing, and somehow oddly familiar, though his addled thoughts couldn’t place it. “You did the last time you woke.”

 

He felt his brow furrow in confusion, then winced as even that slight movement made his head ache more. “The…last…time?” he asked. “How long have I been here?”

 

“A few days so far. We were worried that you might not wake up at all after the first day. Can you open your eyes for me?” the voice asked, and he found himself wanting to do as she – he’d finally realized it was a woman – directed.

 

Wincing against the light that still felt like an assault upon his senses, Billy eased them all the way open, blinking as the brightness faded little by little until the details of the small room appeared: a simple wooden bed barely long enough for his tall frame, a small table beside it with an oil lamp and a tray holding a bowl of what looked to be broth and a cup of water, and, crammed in at the end of the bed, a simple dresser with a wash bowl above it. All in all, the room had little to recommend itself, but it was still miles away from a hammock aboard ship or even the tiny dingy rooms he’d occasionally spared the coin for in port.

 

And none of those less favorable abodes had held a woman the likes of one sitting on a chair beside the bed, worried eyes trained on him, the bucket settled beside her feet. Her dark hair was pinned smoothly back from her pale face, and while she wore a simple serviceable dress covered in a white apron, the little touches of lace at the collar and cuffs told him she was likely more of means than she appeared. That face though… Billy blinked, wondering if his pounding head had been hit harder than he knew to give him some sort of vision.

 

“Miss Ashe?” he asked, voice incredulous at the thought of encountering the Governor’s daughter after so many months, or perhaps even years depending on how much of his memory he’d lost with the unknown blow to the head he must have suffered. And what was she doing in Nassau? He blinked at the thought. He was in Nassau, wasn’t he? “What are you doing here? Fuck, where is here?”

 

Billy ducked his head, realizing his language wasn’t anything like proper around a lady, but she didn’t seem affronted, instead smiling approvingly at him, the sight near as blinding as the light had been. “You remember me. That’s good, Mr. Bones. You’re improving better than we’d hoped with the state you were in when they brought you to us.”

 

“Who’s us? And where are we?” he asked again, voice rough and confusion still clouding his thoughts despite the revelation that she was in fact the young woman he’d remembered.

 

She passed him the cup of water and helped him to drink deeply before she answered. “You’re at a charity hospital here in Savannah. Do you remember arriving?”

 

“No, no I don’t.” He frowned at the way his hand shook as he tried to hold the cup on his own, but finally let her help him drink again. “What happened? Why was I brought here?”

 

He didn’t remember being injured, hell didn’t remember being in Savannah for that matter. Had they come on the account or for a raid? The last he remembered he was in Nassau waiting for the _Walrus_ to arrive back from another supply run to the maroons’ island. After that, though…nothing. And he had no idea how long ago that had been now that he tried to think about it.

 

“Several ships arrived a few days ago, the _Walrus_ among them. They were expected to attack, but they never did, or didn’t for the first day at least.” Her voice was gentle, but something about it made him think they’d had this conversation already at least once. “Then yesterday, there was an explosion at the docks. You were likely thrown a fair distance. Some disorientation is to be expected.”

 

“Gunpowder or cannon fire?” he asked, but she shook her head at both suggestions.

 

“Heated flour barrels of all things.” Abigail eyed him. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, now would you?”

 

Billy chuckled helplessly. “I don’t know much about anything right now to be honest.”

 

“Fair enough.” She didn’t press him, choosing instead to reach for the bowl of broth and spoon. “You’ll need to go slowly with this. You’ve had little at all in your stomach for the past day, and with the concussion, it’s possible even broth won’t stay down.”

 

He didn’t bother fighting her for the spoon as he had the water cup, aggravated though he was at the helplessness implied by her feeding him. His head still spun the room around him, and, shaky as he was, dropping spoon, bowl, and all in his own lap would be far more humiliating than letting her aid him. The broth was better than he’d expected, just this side of too hot to eat and with a hint more seasonings than the bland offering he’d thought she’d serve her patient.

 

All too soon, his stomach rebelled against the thought of eating more. He’d managed barely half the bowl, but Miss Ashe seemed satisfied with it. “I’ll be back with more in a while. I daresay you’ll need small meals until your stomach settles.” She set aside the bowl, then reach for the blanket, causing Billy to cringe back as he realized how little he wore underneath it. Miss Ashe shook her head lightly, hands firm against his painfully weak struggling. “I need to check your ribs and hip. Mostly it was bruising, but you had some cuts from debris across the lines of your bones. I won’t peek, I promise.”

 

Billy blinked at the hint of mischief in her voice, but submitted to her business-like check of his wounds and dabbing of balm against the bruises. True to her word, the blankets were pulled down for the hip examination, but she arranged them carefully to protect his modesty.

 

The thought that he had any modesty after life on the ship struck him as strangely funny, and he started to chuckle before his ribs protested and he subsided with a groan causing Miss Ashe to still, worry in her eyes. “I apologize, did it tickle or sting? I didn’t mean to–”

 

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting off her words with gritted teeth against the pain. “My mind just keeps fucking off on its own. Had a thought that shouldn’t have been funny, but it was.”

 

Billy wasn’t sure the explanation made any fucking sense, but she nodded as if it did anyway, then hurried to finish up her ministrations. The gentle touches of her hands, even against his sore ribs, were soothing, and he found his eyes slipping closed despite his desire to remain awake.

 

The last thing he remembered was the press of her hand along his cheek and a whispered order to get some rest. Then he was gone again, drowning down in the depths of sleep.

 

…

 

_Cannon fire pounds in his ears and his hands grip his weapon. A voice screams a warning behind him, but his enemy is ahead. He has to reach him. He has to –_

_An explosion assaults his ears, and he is lifted off his feet and flung against a wall. A weight collapses upon him, and he knows no more._

 

The feeling of falling jolted him out of what he thought was likely a nightmare judging from the sweat dripping in his eyes and the pounding of his heart. It was dark in the room, next to no light creeping in around the shutters of the window he didn’t remember noticing on the wall of his tiny room. Had it been covered before or had the blow to his head kept him so off balance that it had escaped him?

 

He shook his head against the thought and tried to think. The memory of what he’d dreamed teased at the edge of his mind, unclear and just out of reach. Billy brought a hand up to his face and was surprised to find the scratch of a thick beard wet with sweat across his jaw and around his mouth. He guessed he’d simply been too out of it to notice the growth the last time he’d woken, and far too sore to have lifted a hand to his face. He wondered that Miss Ashe had even recognized him with this mass of hair disguising his face. Hell, he wondered if he’d even recognize himself had he a mirror.

 

Billy almost shook his head slightly at the thought, but was careful to keep his head relatively still and hopefully avoid another bout of nausea. He rubbed at the beard again and tried to think back, worried he’d missed such a sign that things were not as he thought they were.

 

He’d worn no beard in the clearest of his memories. He rarely went completely bare on his chin, of course. Considering he wasn’t fool enough to trust a yawing ship beneath him to hold steady while he held a blade to his neck, he’d wait to shave in between hunts, visiting the barber in Nassau to clear away the bristles that grew in the meantime. It honestly was as much an excuse to spend his coin as because he needed someone else to shave for him. It wasn’t like he visited the brothels as often as his brothers did, and there were hardly any safe places for him to simply stash his takes on the island. Might as well spend it on something, aye?

 

But still, he should have been closer to clean shaven. Unless he couldn’t risk being seen in Nassau proper. Jesus, how long had he been at the Barlow woman’s? And why the fuck had he travelled from there to Savannah anyway?

 

The confusion grated at him. Even in the midst of dealing with Flint, at least he’d known who he was, where he was, and what he was going to do. Having this… _nothing_ where days or perhaps even weeks should have been…

 

Billy took a ragged breath, wincing as his ribs protested. He reached carefully for the cup of water on the side table, now more full than it had been the last time he’d seen it. Miss Ashe must have been in to check on him after he’d fallen asleep. For once, the thought of someone sneaking into his space when he was unaware and helpless didn’t bother him; little though he’d been exposed to her, she’d struck him as an honest woman, one he didn’t have to fear harming him or otherwise taking advantage of his unconscious state.

 

It was a strange sense of relief, knowing he was safe where he was, even if he didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Even then, Billy had to trust her, didn’t he? Distrusting her would only make his convalescence even more stress filled than it was likely to be. Christ, it wasn’t like he enjoyed enforced stillness at the best of times; he needed to cling to whatever he could to keep himself calm now.

 

Even if the nightmares hinted at reasons to fight. Fight who, though? That was the damn question.

 

Billy wished again that he could just fucking _remember._  

 

He lay there brooding as the dimness filtering in around the cracks in the shutters gradually lightened little by little over the minutes or hours since he’d awoken. Sometime after what he guessed to be true sunrise, he heard footsteps in the hall, and then his door opened to Miss Ashe, with a familiar looking tray and bowl and bundle of bandages.

 

He fancied her face brightened when she saw him awake, but he forced down the thought almost immediately. He was tired, he thought. Just tired. And she was likely just glad to see one of her patients in a better state than he’d been earlier.

 

“Good morning. I wasn’t sure you’d be up just yet,” she said with another gentle smile, setting the tray down on the table again. “Are you ready for breakfast? Do you need the chamber pot?” His eyes widened, and she chuckled a little. “If you do, I can fetch one of our orderlies to help you.”

 

“That…that would be appreciated. Thank you,” he managed, trying not to think about whether he’d needed her help earlier in that space of time he couldn’t remember. Surely a young lady like herself would leave such tasks to someone else, yeah? Though, she certainly hadn’t hesitated to treat the wounds on his hip…

 

“I’ll fetch someone and be back presently.” She gestured to the bowl on the tray. “If you feel up to it on your own, you’re welcome to start your breakfast. It’s just broth again, but hopefully we can get you something a bit more substantial soon if it stays down for you.”

 

With that she ducked out the door, leaving Billy to contemplate whether he trusted himself not to drop the bowl after all. A quick check of his hands showed they were still shaking more than he’d like, and he decided discretion was the better part of valor. That the meal struck him as more enticing with the young lady’s company was foolish to say the least, but he’d take whatever comfort he could scrounge up with his bruises still screaming at him the way they were.

 

The door opened and an older black man stepped into the room and smiled broadly at him. “So the patient is awake. That is good to see. I am David. Miss Ashe said you needed some help with the necessities, yes?”

 

Billy nodded slowly, struck by the flash of the face of an angry man with skin as dark as David’s but taller and broader. He blinked and the image faded. Another memory? He wasn’t sure. “I’m Billy. Thank you for the help.”

 

“Do not thank me yet, son. This will likely hurt more than it won’t.” David helped him to sit up straight and then to stand, almost all of Billy’s weight leaning upon the shorter man’s shoulders as they shuffled over to the chamber pot. He pissed, trying to ignore David’s presence as well as trying not to sway, his strength showing itself to be truly pitiful if even this task was hard on him.

 

And painful. David had not been wrong about that.

 

The few steps back to the bed were agony, and Billy would have dropped himself quickly into the bed if he hadn’t known the jolt would likely hurt even worse. Instead, David eased him down carefully and helped him pull up the blanket again. “Do you need anything else before Miss Ashe returns to see to your meal and your wounds?”

 

“No. No, I think that was all I needed,” Billy managed to say in between exhausted breaths. David gave him a sympathetic look and a light pat on the shoulder and then took his leave.

 

Miss Ashe must have been waiting in the hall for she entered as David left, the man smiling at her and holding the door to let her in after him. “Ready for your broth now?” she asked him, settling herself on the chair and reaching for the bowl before he could answer. “With any luck, you might be able to finish a whole bowl this time.”

 

“Luck doesn’t seem to be something I have lately,” he muttered, then flushed red at the mild admonishment in her eyes as she held out the spoon. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, Mr. Bones,” she assured him. “I’d be frustrated myself if I were stuck in a bed on a beautiful day.”

 

He let her feed him a few spoonfuls of broth, then looked at faint light peeking around the closed shutters. “Is it a nice day then?”

 

“It is at that. I can open the window once you’ve eaten if you’d like,” she said, holding out the spoon again as if the window would be his reward for completing the meal. He ate obediently, eyes on the closed shutters to keep himself from staring at her.

 

In between spoonfuls, he risked a nod in answer. “A bit of sunlight would be appreciated. Not sure I’ve ever been this pale.”

 

Miss Ashe smiled a little as she offered him another spoonful. “Perhaps when you were a child? Certainly not in your time on the sea, I’d guess.”

 

He finished the bowl with her aid this time, and she promised to bring a bit of bread and fruit with his lunch in reward. Then it was on to another excruciating and awkward check of his bandages. Billy cast about for something, anything to talk about to distract him from the feel of her fingers so business-like against his skin.

 

“How did you even recognize me with all of this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward his bearded face.

 

The question seemed to startle her, and she paused with the bandage in her hand. After a moment, she laughed a little and ducked her head. “It was your eyes, mostly. Well that and the size of you. You do leave an impression, Mr. Bones.”

 

“Do I though?” he asked, then froze as she blushed and looked away. Were they flirting of all fucking things? He hadn’t meant to by any means, and surely she wouldn’t be. Not with him or anyone like him. No, he told himself as she deliberately kept her eyes away from him, briskly completing the task of changing the dressing on his hip, a lady like her wouldn’t offer any encouragement to a criminal like him.

 

Once done, she cleared her throat and stood, moving to the window and pulling the shutters open carefully to let the sunlight stream in to hit the foot of Billy’s bed. “There, how is that?”

 

“’s perfect.” Billy closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself breathe in as a light breeze brought the scent of what must be an herb garden somewhere nearby. He thought he was at least on the second floor judging from the view of tree branches directly across from him, and there wasn’t any more of the building visible through the window, at least not from where he lay. “Yeah, it’s just right.”

 

“Good,” she said, and he opened his eyes to see her fidgeting with her hands. “That’s – that’s good. It might get too bright as the day goes on. We’ll adjust it if need be after lunch.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Ashe.”

 

She nodded and gathered her things and left him in the company of the window and the trees.

 

…

 

The soft heat of the sun on his feet and legs as it creeped toward noon and the faint breeze conspired against his desire to stay awake, and he dozed through a visit from a newcomer, this one an older white man who introduced himself as the doctor but said little else. The pain as the fucker poked and prodded Billy’s wounds with a much less gentle hand than Miss Ashe’s barely managed to break through his exhaustion, but he managed to fall asleep again once the man brusquely took himself out of the room. Billy was just glad to see the back of him. Lunch arrived in the hands of his preferred caregiver an hour or an eon later, there was no telling which to his sleep drugged mind.

 

“Why am I so damned tired?” he groused as Miss Ashe situated the tray of lunch things, the promised slices of bread and fruit there just as she’d said they’d be.

 

“Healing takes it out of you and takes time besides,” she said, voice soothing though he didn’t particularly want to be soothed. “Surely you know that from your… travels.”

 

“From being a fucking pirate, you mean?” Billy said, exhausting making his harsher than he’d intended. He refused to apologize though, biting back the words when they still tried to escape him.

 

Miss Ashe just eyed him and held out the bowl and spoon. “Let’s see if you can manage these without my help this time, hmm?”

 

The lack of response to his ire was a censure in and of itself, but Billy felt himself deflate just as if she’d chastised him. Jesus, but he was just so fucking tired.

 

“Sorry,” he said, then scowled at the apology he’d thought he’d avoided. He covered his annoyance with himself by reaching for the broth she’d offered. He only barely managed to hold the bowl and spoon steady but he was bound and determined he would not need to ask for her help this time. They both sat in silence as he downed the broth one trembling spoonful at a time until he’d finished it all. There was an odd sense of accomplishment at so small a feat. At least he’d accomplished something, anything at all, and that was better than nothing, wasn’t it? He handed the bowl back to her with a nod as close to respectful as he could make it. “Thank you. How much longer am I going to be here anyway?” he asked, realizing he wanted, no needed, some sense that an end to the pain and exhaustion might be in sight. “I need to get back to the ship.”

 

Miss Ashe looked away, almost seeming guilty for a moment, but then she turned back offer him a small plate of the fruit she’d brought. “Did Dr. Parsons not give you his expectations?”

 

“If that’s the old fart who was in here earlier, he didn’t say anything to me at all. Just shoved at my hip and muttered under his breath before he took his leave.” Billy didn’t doubt his tone held a wealth of disdain for the man or the doctor, whatever Miss Ashe said his name was.

 

She slumped a little and sighed. “We have been trying to work with him on his bedside manner, but it seems I will need to discuss it with him again. He’s quite a skilled physician, truly. He just prefers injuries to patients, I suppose.”

 

“Suppose so,” Billy agreed, remembering how much more confident Mr. Howell always was when treating a wound initially compared to when he had to deal with a grounded sailor chafing at the bit to return to sea. The man easily could go weeks barely talking until after a new skirmish, then he’d order men about like so much cattle, never mind if they were crew, captain, or complete stranger conveniently within reach on the dock. Billy guessed it might be the lot of a physician, though Miss Ashe certainly seemed to escape that nature.

 

He told her so and was gifted a pleased smile at his words. “Well that is a compliment! I’m only learning so far. Changing bandages and nursing patients is the limit of my skills. Dr. Parsons is teaching me to sew wounds next, however.”

 

“’s more than many of the crew could manage. I’d say you’re learning better than you think,” he said, half expecting another smile in response to the meager compliment. Instead her face seemed to fall at the mention of the crew, and he held his breath as a strange since of dread filled him.

 

“Mr. Bones…” Miss Ashe trailed off and hesitated for the first time since he’d awakened in the little room. “Your crew is long gone and likely believes you to be dead.” A stone seemed to drop in his stomach, and he stared at her, unwilling to believe her words, though God knew she’d never yet lied to him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he’d already begun to wonder if anyone even _wanted_ to come looking for him. “When the explosion occurred, many men were hurt, both pirate and honest dock worker, and most of them carried directly here. Some, though, were buried under the rubble and only found several hours later. You were one of those. No one along the route from the dock to my home here seemed to recognize you, and none of your weapons were in your possession when the rescuers unearthed you.”

 

Billy blinked, trying to force his tired mind to understand what she seemed to be hinting. He shook his head, then finally admitted, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Miss Ashe.”

 

“You have a choice, Mr. Bones,” she replied. “Once you’re healed, you can return to Nassau and if you find it free of both English and Spanish rule, you may find your missing crew or another if yours has scattered to the wind. Or,” she paused again and busied her hands smoothing down the quilt for a moment, “you can start over. No one in Savannah knows who ‘Billy Bones’ is, and I will do all in my power to keep that secret for you. You can remake yourself, if you wish.”

 

She waited as if for a response from him, but he found himself struck speechless at her words and the weight of them in his chest. After a moment of silence, she collected her things and left him with a soft admonishment to rest.

 

…

 

“What would I even do?” Billy asked the next time she appeared, the question all but torn out of him before she’d even passed the threshold. He didn’t startle her, though; he was beginning to think next to nothing could shake the calm she radiated.

 

Abigail bit her lip in thought, silent as she went about the now familiar routine of settling the tray of supper on the table by his bedside and helping him sit up, tucking an extra pillow behind him and smiling when he thanked her. Finally she spoke. “Well, what skills do you have?”

 

“You mean besides killing?” Billy knew his voice was hard and near cruel, but she barely blinked at the venom in the words he hadn’t meant to spit out. He stared down at the bowl of soup she passed him, not wanting to look up at her as she continued speaking.

 

“Indeed. Besides killing. I know you are a skilled sailor; that’s valued on many a ship, not just those of pirates. Captain Flint implied you are a literate man, as well. Is that true?” Billy only nodded, and she went on. “Then that opens up a variety of options, as well. I know a fair number of shopkeepers who barely know their letters and sums. Someone to help them with both would be in great demand. And if you preferred not to advertise your education, the simple fact of your size and strength would make you qualified for a great many more physical professions.”

 

He furrowed his brow. “That narrows it down barely at all. Forgive me, but that’s not particularly helpful, Miss Ashe.”

 

She chuckled a little, the sound sadder than it should have been. “That’s precisely my point. You have choices, and many of them. Choices that can lead to dreams you never thought you’d have the chance to chase after. You just have to decide to choose.”

 

Once again, she left him reeling in silence, wondering at the implications of her words well into the night.

 

…

 

The next time she arrived, tray in hand as always, Billy hesitated to speak, wondering if the questions he hoped to ask would be the ones to build a wall between them. “Miss Ashe. What was it _you_ chose – what brought you here, to this place?”

 

She blinked, for once not expecting the question, and bit at her lower lip in thought. “I suppose I chose myself,” she said softly, putting the tray down and twitching at his blanket as if as an excuse to keep from meeting his eyes. She paced slowly to the window and dawn breaking beyond the shutters, silent in her contemplation. Finally she sighed and sank down into her chair.

 

“Yes, I chose me.” Abigail looked up at him and shrugged slightly. “You must understand, or I guess you might already understand, how it is in society for a woman. Our reputations are all in the marriage mart, and for mine to be so…”

 

_Ruined_ , he thought, then hated himself for it.

 

“…less than pristine,” she went on, “means my options were limited. My father, I assume, had left me as his sole heir, likely with the expectation that I would be married by the time of his passing, and my wealth would then pass to a husband. But as written, I was, on paper, a wealthy woman. So I could marry, if I could find a man willing to overlook my reputation for my inheritance. I won’t deny I’ve dreamed of a home and family, a husband I could love, just as most young ladies do, I guess. But I know now and knew then, all too well, the sorts of ‘gentlemen’ who would deliberately seek out a ruined bride. I could settle for marrying one of them; that would be what was expected of me. Or – or I could to find some other way of remaking myself. This place was where I chose to do so.”

 

“A hospital?” It wasn’t quite a question, though he still couldn’t picture her in a place like this one, surrounded by pain and sickness and death as one always was in a hospital.

 

“In a _charity_ hospital,” she clarified. “Giving to charity is quite respectable after all, though few expected me to throw quite so much of my own fortune towards charitable ends. It’s turned off quite a few of the more opportunistic of my suitors; once they discovered most of my moneys are wrapped up in a tidy little trust with the help of my solicitor here, well… Then I became less desirable.”

 

Billy shook his head, understanding what she said, but still wanting more of an answer. “But why are _you_ here? You could donate it all to charity without, well, without lowering yourself to treat ones such as me.”

 

Abigail met his gaze without flinching, but he could see her hands gripping each other in her lap, knuckles turning white from the force of it. “I’ve seen violence in my life, Mr. Bones, more than any one person should, and to my regret, I was, in part, one of the instigators of some of that violence taking place. I wanted, for once, to be one who brought healing to the people of a town, instead of death.”

 

Her words struck him like a blow, resonating more deeply within him than he’d ever expected, and he had to look away from her dark, knowing eyes.

 

“I see,” he managed.

 

Though he didn’t mean her to, she took it for a dismissal and quietly left the room. He stayed awake and thinking for a long while after she went, trapped both by his injuries and the confusion running through is mind.

 

…

 

“What about teaching?” he asked, again almost before she’d entered the room; though this time it was more due to fear that he’d be too much of a coward to say it otherwise. “Not for the rich folk, I mean. I don’t have near the classical training or languages and shit they’d want. But the others – the shop keeps and dock workers you mentioned. They’d have children, wouldn’t they? Children who’d grow up better able to compete with the wealthy sons if they had a bit of a leg up. Someone to make sure they could read and write and all.”

 

He didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke, not daring to risk derision in her eyes at his suggestion. Billy’d thought on it for hours, barely acknowledging the doctor when he returned to torment him or David’s visits to help him to and from the chamber pot on a schedule he guessed to be regular, though he had no exact way of marking the time. He’d remembered the things he’d liked best on ship – taking the new lads round and helping them finding their footing, teaching them the ways of the sea and sail and the ship herself, her moods in a storm or in gentle swells, the things he knew now better than he could have believed possible in the early days – and memories from even farther back, before he’d been impressed, of his mother making her rounds up and down the street and dragging back their neighbors’ children to make sure they attended lessons. He’d crammed his coltish height in at their kitchen table side by side with the apothecary’s daughter, the butcher’s twins, the baker’s son – all of them taught in turn by his mother who wouldn’t take any argument on the matter from children or parents alike.

 

_Learning is important,_ she’d said. _The only way an honest man might make it in a rich man’s society._ _For folks like us, learning leads to life, leads to expanding your horizons and growing to meet them instead of letting life beat you down even smaller than you are in this wide world._

 

He’d never forgotten that, though on the _Walrus_ it had been easy to pretend he had for a while. Had been easy to turn away from any reminders of the life he’d chosen not to return to in the wake of his winning his freedom on the edge of a blade.

 

“I could teach, I think. I’m not sure how I’d go about it, but I – I could teach. I’d like to, I mean,” he said, feeling awkward under the weight of her gaze, somehow once again far too large and gangly and taking up more space than he should have as he’d so often felt as a boy.

 

Miss Ashe didn’t smile, but something in the dark eyes fixed upon his face began to brighten with an approval that left his chest tight for reasons other than the bandages on his ribs. “I think that would be wonderful, Mr. Bones. I believe you could do so and do quite well at it, at that.” Something in her seemed to settle as she went on. “It’s won’t be easy, but I can’t imagine it will be too terribly complicated. I will help you in any way I can, I promise.”

 

“Miss Ashe… _Abigail_ ,” he said, needing to get out these last few words before he lost his courage. “If this works, it isn’t all that… I mean, you spoke once of other dreams. Other hopes.” Her lovely eyes widened, and Billy knew she took his meaning. “To be honest, I know even less of how to accomplish those sorts than I do of how to run a fucking school but… They sound like the kind of dreams that I’d hope we, I mean I…” He scowled at his hesitation and forced himself to finish. “They’d be dreams I’d dearly hope to see come to pass someday. For both of us.”

 

Abigail looked down, a blush staining her cheeks for the first time since that moment they’d laid eyes on each other in the belly of the _Walrus_ so long ago as to feel like a lifetime. Then she smiled at him, and Billy felt his heart stutter in his chest and his blood rush in his ears as an almost painfully dizzy sense of relief swept over him. “Then I suppose, _Billy_ , that’s something we’ll need to speak about again. Someday.”

 

With that she left, but this time he watched the door close behind her with the first sense of true hope that he’d felt in longer than he could remember.

 

 


End file.
